Needs
by Endlessly She Said
Summary: A series about the needs of Quil and Claire. Rating may rise in the future.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE** **DESPERATION**

I couldn't stay away from her. Not for much longer, anyway. It had been little over a year-and-a-half since I'd last seen Claire; almost two. She was going to be in kindergarten soon. The time and distance was absolutely _killing_ me. My little Claire Bear was growing older without me there to protect her innocence, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was stuck here in La Push, bound by obligations, while every bone in my body ached to run to the little girl who had absolutely stolen my heart.

_Can you __**please**__ just focus on the task, Romeo?_ I heard the bitter voice of Jacob Black in the back of my head; felt his intense rage as if it were my own. I wasn't angry. I was just miserable. He, on the other hand, had failed to get over Bella, something that he, at _least_, had the ability to do.

_Maybe you'll understand some day, Black_, I retorted, adding an audible snarl. My pace quickened in the night, and I left my companion far behind. I knew that if the others had been anywhere near, they would have told me how uncalled for my reaction had been, but I was left alone in my head, not even Jake chasing after me.

I ran until my muscles became so sore that I could barely even walk. It was an understatement to say how much of an accomplishment that had been for me. As a werewolf, I was used to unusual bouts of strength and endurance, but the pain had driven me to the point of almost collapsing. Life was Hell without Claire by my side. I felt as if I was going absolutely _crazy_. What was she doing right now? Was she smiling? Laughing? What would her parents do if some little punk bullied her on the first day of school? What if she fell? I tried not to think of all the horrible possibilities that came with each new day, but it was no use. Claire was my every thought.

With a resigned sigh, I stretched myself out across the dirt. I was too exhausted to change back into Quil Ateara or to even return home. My large, muddy-brown eyes just stared at the moon – my only connection with Claire – until I finally drifted off into sleep.

* * *

When morning hit, I reluctantly changed into my clothes and headed back. My body was so stiff from the run and the hard ground that I was limping. The minute I got home, I was taking a hot shower. I needed to wipe off all of this mud, anyway. It had decided to rain while I was asleep, so I had gotten my coat all matted in mud, which now meant that my skin was absolutely covered in it. Not that I usually minded, but I wasn't in the happiest of moods lately.

_I should have realized how badly I'd be paying for that._ Still having no energy, I couldn't find the will to actually speak to myself. _I'm sore, I'm miserable, and I'm __**starving**__._ If I'd, for some strange reason, seen a cow anywhere near me, I honestly think that I would have eaten the shit out of that thing.

It took twice as long to reach the house. Although I knew that my mother was going to be _pissed_ at the sight of me (and the carpet when I walked on it), I really didn't care. I was going to shower, devour, and sleep.

* * *

The smell of pancakes, bacon, sausage, and eggs lingered in the air. It was faint, which meant that Mom must have cooked all of it at least twenty minutes ago. I felt my stomach grumble. Maybe I'd devour _before_ I showered. I wasn't a neat freak or anything, and with any luck, there'd still be some food left.

Like with any man, my stomach decided for me. I headed to the kitchen, not noticing (or caring) the lack of bodies within the immediate part of the house. What they were doing did not concern me. What _did_ was a _lot_ of sausage. Frankly, I would've rather eaten the whole pig, but I was pretty sure that Mom would've bitched and whined about how "unmannerly" the whole thing would've been.

When I entered the kitchen, I instantly noticed a stack of dishes that practically had **Quil** written all over them. A groan rattled thickly in my throat but quickly died down when I stuck my head in the fridge. There was a small stack of pancakes still left over, but what I wanted was the _meat_. "Aha." To my delight, I found Tupperware filled with both the bacon and sausage. Like only a wolf could, I tore open the lids and sunk my teeth into the food. So what that it was cold? I was _hungry_; it made no difference.

Before I completely engorged myself, I snagged the orange juice from the fridge and chugged. Mom must have heard all of the noise because her voice suddenly addressed me. "Quil? Is that you? Honey, I've been worried sick about yo – MY CARPET!" Ah, just like my mother. "What a mess... How many times... Expensive..." Really, it was all just _blah, blah, blah_ to me.

She found me with my face stuffed. "_There_ you are." The voice that had been filled with such concern had already melted in annoyance. "Mike, Rachel, and Claire are going to be here in an _hour_. If you had actually _been_ here, you would have known that! Your father is driving to the airport to pick them up and I've been cleaning for _hours_. So while I **try** to get all of that dirt out of **my** carpet, you need to shower and DO THOSE DISHES! Do you understand me, young man?" I opened my mouth to mumble a yes ma'am but was stopped before I got one sound out. "Don't. You. Dare. Just _do_ it!"

As she walked away, I swallowed the half-chewed pieces. It wasn't comfortable, but I was far too excited to care about any of that. I was going to get to see _my_ Claire today. The lids were half-heartedly placed back atop the containers and shoved into the fridge with the juice. I could barely contain myself. On the way to the bathroom, I was fumbling with my shirt. _My_ Claire. She was coming!

Completely stripped and with the water running, I stepped into the shower. Actually, _fell_ was more like it. Not only that, but I hadn't perfected the temperature of the water, so I hissed at how hot it felt against my already fevered skin. All of the anticipation was making me clumsy. There was no time to care about any of it, though. Claire was coming, and I had work to do!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two Anticipation**

I hadn't given myself time to dry off once I was finished with showering. Instead, I had quickly thrown on some clothes and raced to the kitchen, where I was now doing dishes. "Quil, be _careful_. You've already broken four plates." Four plates, three bowls, and one glass, actually. I couldn't **help** it, though. The thought of Claire was overriding the usual I-'m-a-werewolf-so-I-need-to-be-gentle notion.

"Quil?" My mother wanted an answer. When I looked over, she had her hands firmly placed on her hips and one eyebrow jutted upward. Without much to say, all I could really do was give her a floppy, lopsided grin. There was a groan and suddenly, I was being pushed aside. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to take something seriously for once. I'll finish up while you – QUIL! _WHAT_ did you do to your hand!? Go put on a bandage!" Funny how she could seem so concerned yet so _angry_ in the same sentence.

What was she talking about? I didn't do _anything_ to my hand. But when I took the time to look, I noticed quite a few cuts. Since my hands had been working under water, I guess they hadn't really had a chance to bleed. Now was a different story. The cuts were freshly oozing. "Mom," I mumbled, letting my arms rest back at my sides as I looked up at her. "They won't even **be** there in a minute." She never stopped worrying about the littlest things, even knowing that they didn't affect me anymore.

Once the words had slipped from my mouth, I suddenly realized the torture that I was bringing upon myself. I loved my mother dearly, but she was... Well, she was almost _neurotic_. Even though I was a grown man now, I was still her Itty Bitty Quilly. Apparently, her delusions didn't take notice to the fact that I was a werewolf and that, given the nature, I was strong enough, fast enough, and big enough not to need her worries; it _really_ didn't help that I still looked like her seventeen-year old son. I guess I had to take the good with the bad.

Surprisingly, she didn't slip into one of her tangents. Instead, her expression and tone softened. "Please, Quil? Please just let me pretend that you still need me to protect you." I felt the urge to hug her, to tell her how much I loved her, but that would require getting mushy. I was already getting enough crap about that from Jacob.

So I cleared my throat and pretended to be the man that I really wasn't ready to be yet. "Yeah, yeah. Of course. I'll get right on it." My head shook, my muscles flexed, and I couldn't help but give her an intense, smoldering stare, but none of it stayed. True to form, a smile spread and I planted a kiss on her cheek before I went to humor her.

* * *

My mind was racing; I couldn't help but steal a glance at the clock as I made my way to the bathroom. Claire would be here in just a little over ten minutes. It should have been longer with how quickly I was racing through my chores, but I was clumsy. It took me a few extra minutes every time I had to pick myself up. As humiliating as it was, I thanked any higher being that would listen for my misfortunes. I didn't think that I would be able to stand it if I would have had to wait much longer.

My thoughts changed again once I consciously saw my face in the mirror. Claire would remember me, right? I looked exactly the way I had when she'd last seen me. Of _course_ she would remember me.

I let out a heavy breath and opened the medicine cabinet, grabbing the gauze and medical tape, skipping over the antiseptic. As I prepared to wrap my hand, I noticed that the cuts had already healed, not even leaving a pink line as an afterthought. I'd promised my mother, though, and rolled my eyes as I fixed up the absent wounds.

The door opened. "Oh, Rachel! It's so good to see you. How was your trip here?"

"_Long_." I heard a pair of laughs as more bodies rustled in. "Do you know when Emily will be home? I know that she had an errand to run somewhere outside of La Push, but we're all just really tired. We've had a bumpy flight."

"You didn't get any sleep then, huh?" I was done fixing up my hand, but I couldn't bring myself to join the crowd. I silently wondered if what I was doing could be considered spying. "Well, I'd give her about another hour. Sam might be back a little earlier, though. Until then, just make yourselves at home. If you're hungry..." Mom paused at her little prompting.

"No thank you. The food on the plane kind of upset our stomachs."

I heard a disapproving grunt. "Speak for yourself. I'm _starving._"

"What's new about that, Mike?" This time my father spoke, causing the group to erupt into laughter.

"Har, har. You better watch yourself, Geoff." More laughter.

"I'll just heat you up some pancakes and eggs, then. How's that sound? But I'll have to make some more bacon and sausage. My son _inhaled_ it all this morning." Not _all_ of it. At least, I didn't _remember_ eating _all_ of it.

"That would be great. Do you have some coffee, too?"

"I'll brew some right away."

"Thanks again. By the way, where _is_ Quil? Did he smell us coming a mile away and run the opposite direction?" Even _more_ laughter. What was it about morning people that just made them so damn cheerful?

"Probably back in bed. He was out really late last night. I'll go get him; Mike, can you heat up the food and start a fresh pot of coffee while I go do that?" I heard something along the lines of _yes, __dear_, but I wasn't paying attention anymore. The object of my affection was here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three Possibilities**

There she was – the most beautiful five-year old in the world. Scratch that. The most beautiful girl in the world _period_ . Age didn't matter, and neither did the glob of snot that puffed from her nose when she took a breath. Nobody could ever challenge Claire's beauty and strength. It was _impossible_.

"Quiwwy!" Claire hadn't successfully mastered the letter _L_ yet. I secretly hoped that she never would because it was just so damn adorable. I must have been staring at her in a really strange way because I heard her high voice again, this time filled with concern. "Quiwwy? Quiwwy, what's wong?"

I was still too tall for her despite the fact that I was crouching down. What snapped me from my daze was the feel of her perfect little hands pressing on my face. She must have been feeling for a fever. "Nothing, Claire. I'm just really glad to see you." Her eyes lit up. I took that opportunity to sweep her into my arms and fly her around the room before attacking her with savage kisses. I was rewarded with shrieking laughter and arms that grasped me as a way of telling me that if I put her down, she wouldn't be very happy.

Good. I never, _ever_ wanted her out of my arms again.

"You should have heard her on the way here, Quil. All she talked about was you." There was an endearing smile within Rachel's voice. That was another thing that I was glad about. Neither of Claire's parents actually _knew_ about my imprinting – though they understood the werewolf part – but the ease in their expressions always gave me hope that explaining to what extent the relationship would likely end up as would be a lot easier than it should have been. Of course, this was all in the early stage. Later on, when the _still_-seventeen Quil was _still _attached to the now-nine, now-thirteen, now-sixteen year-old Claire, their approval might become less and less. I hoped not, though.

With one pudgy arm curled around my neck and the other reaching out toward her mother, Claire eagerly signaled that she wanted. "Pictuw, Mommy!" Even when she wanted something else, she wanted to be in my arms more. Fate was cruel because it was making me selfish.

"Oh, right!" Rachel dug into the purse that hung close to her side. "Claire drew a picture for you on the way here. Let me just get it..

"It's a little crinkled because I had to fold it up, but here you go." After she unfolded the white piece of paper, she handed it to me. Drawn on it were scribbles that might not make sense to somebody who wasn't either the child's parents or her 'guardian angel'.

Before I talked her through the art, I walked over to our catch and sat down, Claire contently perched on my lap. Then I held out the drawing so we could both look at it. "What's that?" I asked, pointing to something very large and brown.

"You." She traced the outline of my image with a look of sentimentality, then looked up at me as if to gage my reaction.

"Oooh. Well, thank you for drawing me so pretty!" It was me as a wolf – her protector. I think that a part of her knew just how dedicated I was to her. "And is that you?" The next scribble was clearly more human.

"Yeah. That's me and Quiwwy." Again, she traced the image of herself before pointing again to me. "And you."

"You look pretty, too! And what are we doing, huh?"

"Fwying." I was surprised to find that she still remembered that. Flying was what Claire called it when I was running. She had never _actually_ been on my back, but she had seen me as a wolf once, and running very quickly. I think the best part about that night was how she had instantly recognized me. I had trotted up to her, something very large and surely intimidating to most people, and she had squealed out my name in delight. She had then latched on to a piece of my fur so that she could hug me.

"Can we fwy, Quiwwy?" I looked from the picture to Claire, seeing her face full of expectation.

"Not today, Claire. I _promise_, though, that I will take you flying. Okay?" Though disappointed, she nodded her head and leaned into my touch, both exhausted from the flight and excited to be here.

"You are such a good cook." I glanced in the direction of the voice and saw Mike stuffing his face with Mom's food. He grinned before taking another bite. "Hey, kiddo." I really hated it when he called me that. "Why is it that each time we visit, Claire seems more attached to you? I swear, there _will_ come a time when we won't get her back." Mike laughed in good humor and continued eating, going back into the kitchen to talked to my father about something.

There would be a day when he would lose a part of her. I knew that as a complete truth. Yes, Claire _did_ have a choice. Should she ever want something different, she would be free to choose so. I knew in my heart (though it was arrogant) that she would choose me, though, and that we would some day be more than innocent and protector. He would lose his daughter with the words _'I do'_. Though he had merely been joking, I hoped that he wouldn't come to resent me when his joke was no longer just a humorous impossibility.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four Humility**

Fast-forward to a few years later. Quite a few things had changed. Sam and Emily were now married. Claire's parents had been spending full summers up in La Push, bringing Claire with them. She was now eight, and I could see her changing before my very eyes. Her hair was longer, for instance, and held in tight pigtails that reached just below her shoulders. The features of her face were becoming more proportionate, though her eyes still looked too large to be human. Every day, she was becoming more beautiful.

Beauty didn't save me from humiliation, though. "Okay, so this is Surfer Ken. You can be him, Quil." I faked interest as I reached out for the Barbie doll that was being handed to me. "And _this_ is Bahama Barbie. I'll be her."

"Okay..." Neither Jacob nor Embry were going to find out about this. As much as I adored Claire, I knew that even the quietest of the two (Embry) would find it hard to resist the temptation of making fun of me. "And what are Ken and Barbie doing?"

Her eyebrows furrowed as she touched Barbie's feet to the carpet. Apparently, she was working her creative little mind in this moment. "Well, Barbie can't swim so she's drowning, so Ken needs to save her. If he doesn't, a shark is going to come and eat her." The last part seemed a little morbid for an eight year-old.

Tiny hands rocked the doll against the floor. "_Help. HELP!_" Claire's tiny voice was high as she forced Barbie into distress. "I can't swim! _HELP!_"

A part of me wanted to snicker, but I refrained by hopping Ken toward Barbie. "I'll save you!" My hands forced him into the air before he landed on his stomach.

"WAIT!" Claire's eyes opened wider and rummaged into the small bag that she had by her side. She pulled something small but long and gave it to me. "He's got to have his surfboard otherwise he won't be able to swim her back and they'll BOTH be eaten!" This was obviously a _bad_ thing.

I nodded and grabbed the surfboard, in shock that they actually _made_ these things for toys. I then set Ken flat atop of the imitation and forced him against the imaginary tide. He stopped near Barbie; I forced his stiff arm to extend to the doll in danger. "Climb on!"

Barbie continued to writhe. "Help! I can't grab on! You have to come save me!" She didn't break from her character.

A smile threatened to spread across my lips, and a small one actually did peak through. I forced Ken to jump onto the carpet and grab hold of Barbie, pushing her onto the surfboard. "Okay. Now he has to get on, too, and take them back to the beach." I had noticed that Claire was becoming very directive lately. It wasn't something that I was used to. I followed her orders, though, and had Ken paddle them safely to shore.

The story was finished. "Good job. They're safe now, Claire."

"_Noooooo_." She looked at me and shook her head, expression serious. "Barbie swallowed a LOT of water. Ken needs to give her CRP!"

"CPR?" I corrected. I should have known how futile my efforts would be.

"No. CRP." That was the first time that I had ever been glared at by an eight year-old. She actually looked at me like I had something really _stupid_. The feeling wasn't welcomed at all. "C'mon! HURRY, QUIL! SHE'LL DIE!"

I tilted the doll down and pressed his plastic mouth against Barbie's, exhaling through pursed lips. Then I tried the best I could to press his hands against her chest in a mimic of CPR. After a few repetitions, Claire flopped Barbie over and made coughing sounds. "Is she okay?" I asked, making a face at the scene.

She replied by nodding and making Barbie jump onto her feet. "Thanks to you, Ken!" The high pitch returned to her voice. Barbie then rammed herself against Ken and did what I could only assume was kiss him. Claire even puckered her lips and made noises to exaggerate the scene.

I stared for a second, not sure if this was supposed to be romantic or a _horror_. A part of me was angry that Claire even knew what kissing **was**. That meant that she was only one step closer to finally noticing boys her age. Those punks better watch out... They didn't know what kind of arsenal Claire had at her disposal.

I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't notice Claire digging inside of her bag again. She pulled out another Ken doll and handed him to me. "This is Mike. He likes Barbie, too, but Ken only want her for hisself, so they fight a lot." Obviously, I was being herded into another storyline.

Just as the other doll was placed into my hands, Claire's mother knocked on my door and opened it. "It's time to go to Aunt Emily's and Uncle Sam's, honey. Pick up your toys and tell Quil goodbye." Claire's face pulled itself into a defiant pout, but Rachel was obviously prepared for this exact situation. "Claire Marie, pick up your toys. You can see him tomorrow if he wants to come swimming with us." She looked at me, posing the question with her eyes.

Interesting. We had just been pretending to swim.

"Please come, Quil!" The defiance was gone from her face now, replaced with eager and begging.

It was so hard to resist Claire. Not that I ever, _ever_ would. I smiled at her. "Of course I will. We've got to pick up these toys first, though. And when you get to Emily's and Sam's, brush your teeth." She smiled widely, revealing one tooth that was already gone. I took that as compliance to my demands.

Once the dolls and their accessories were thrown back into the bag, it was handed to Rachel. Claire was ready to leave but turned on her heels, realizing that she had forgotten her hug. She had nearly tripped into my arms, but they were strong; I caught her. "'Night, kid," I whispered affectionately.

"Bye, Quil!" I felt Claire's lips pucker against my cheek, felt the _smack_ of the kiss, and watched as she trotted off with her mother.


End file.
